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“The shadows are closing in. Death hunts you. During the trials, the darkness will start to envelop you. If you don’t survive, we all die. England is lost. Scotland and Wales, too. The rot will creep from the Cliffs of Dover all the way to the highlands. It starts during the trials.”
Raphael slashes the mage’s throat. My vision blurs as he kneels by my side and curls his powerful arms around me. “I’ve got you, love. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
“You’ve proven yourself to be the same self-obsessed twat you always were. You don’t have to be wealthy to think you’re better than everyone else, do you? To some people, arrogance comes just as naturally as breathing. And in reality, Raphael, I saved your ass more than once, you egomaniacal, solipsistic, stuck-up prick. Do not speak to me again unless it’s an order. Unless it’s life or death. You’re not good enough to speak to me, and you never were.”
“I’m going to need to kiss you.” “For realism,” I whisper. He brushes his thumb over my lower lip. “For the mission.” “For England.”
